December 1, 2009
It’s officially that time of year we like to call “The Holidays”. How do I know that? Because there is a chill in the air? Because there are giant inflatable Snowmen and Santa’s in everyone’s yard? Because every time I turn on the radio they are shoving that annoying and stupid Paul McCartney song about “simply having a wonderful Christmas time” down my throat (barf)? No, no, and no. The reason I know that “The Holidays” are here is because I can’t button my pants.
Every year about this time, my body goes into some sort of fat-storage mode for the winter. Either I am distantly related to a bear, or my body is under the impression that I still live in Chicago and I need extra fat to survive. I do have some not-so-distant relatives who were Kentucky mountain people, so I guess the bear thing is a possibility, but because of the stigma of being the product of a woodland creature/human love affair, I’m gonna choose to go with the Chicago explanation. I have tried countless times to explain to my thighs that Houston’s idea of winter is the same as a Chicago Spring, but my fat cells just aren’t listening, and are hoarding every calorie like I’m some kind of Igloo dwelling Eskimo lady.
As I’m sure you all know, “The Holidays” started on October 31st, when our children went running around in the dark, dressed like cheerleader’s and ninja’s, knocking on the doors of strangers, and taking their candy (Nevermind that the other 364 days of the year we would go ape shit on them if they took candy from a stranger). At the end of the night, they came home with anywhere from 3-20 lbs of candy that, as all mommies know, is mainly going to be eaten by us when we are having PMS or watching a late night showing of “The Notebook”.
Halloween damage: 3 pounds and a severe bout of depression after the inevitable sugar drop, coupled with the fact that Ryan Gossling loves that Rachael McAdams so much he built a house for her. WITH HIS BARE HANDS!
Next came Thanksgiving, which is a holiday during which we are supposed to give thanks for the people in our lives and all that crap, but let’s face it…mainly what we are thankful for is the turkey, the delicious trimmings, and an endless abundance of pies and cool whip. Don’t get me wrong, I am definitely thankful for my family too, as long as they don’t eat the last slice of pumpkin pie. Be forewarned: when I’ve been cooking for 2 days, am high on carbs, and have my new Pampered Chef Slice ‘N Serve pie spatula in my hand, it would be in your best interest to step away from the pie. By day 3 of left-overs, I couldn’t even do my fancy guitar kicks while playing Rock Band, for fear that I would split my pants.
Thanksgiving damage: 4 pounds, a close call with the Slice ‘N Serve, and a somewhat boring and kickless performance of “Give It Away”
I truly wish the nightmare was over, but as we all know, Christmas is just around the corner. This time, instead of sending our children off to take candy from strangers, we are forcing them to sit on a stranger’s lap and ask for presents. In my opinion, all this is doing is setting them up for sad and seedy futures as lap dancers and/or trophy wives. But I digress… Christmas, as we all know, is all about a baby in a manger who didn’t have a crib and 3 old guys brought him some sucky presents (Really, what’s a baby gonna do with some shrub called myrr? Next time, old “wise” guys, bring something helpful like A CRIB). So now, all these years later, there is still an old guy, but just one, but he’s fat, like maybe he ate the other 2 old guys, but the important thing is that he brings better presents. Anyway, back on topic: Christmas is also all about food. I am quite sure that I eat enough food during December to last an Ethiopian family an entire year. It is, quite frankly, disgusting and pathetic, but I just can’t stop. There’s food and desserts everywhere and I just can’t say “no”. This year, I am publicly asking my Mother-In-Law NOT to make her annual Peanut butter cookies with the Hershey Kiss in the middle. Those are my heroin, and I am afraid that if they are made, not only will I have to wear my elastic pajama pants for the entire Christmas vacation, but I may pull a Robert Downey Jr. circa 1996, and wake up after a sugar high in a stranger’s bed. And not in a good way.
Christmas damage: Estimated 5 pounds, with the definite possibility of 8 lbs and a warrant for my arrest, if my M.I.L makes the heroin cookies.
2 Responses to “Happy Holidays! (I’ll try to keep my pants on)”
Leave a Comment
Don't have a Gravatar? (the small photo that shows up when you make a comment). Get one here, it's FREE: Sign up for a free Gravatar